Tomorrow
by Joan Milligan
Summary: At the turn of the millenium, five writers come to the Dreaming to claim a boon...


Disclaimer: don't own Dream, not the Dreaming and not the real people. The first two are Vertigo's, though the latter belong solely to themselves.  
  
  
  
Tomorrow  
  
  
  
A Sandman poem  
  
By Joan Milligan  
  
  
  
The millenium turned in the realm of the Dreaming.  
  
The year 2000 had started an hour before,  
  
And in the heart of the realm, five silent figures  
  
Stood ready and eager to enter the castle  
  
That lay and awaited, with ease most unsettling  
  
For the passage of the next one thousand years.  
  
On the gates stood a Wyvern, a Gryphon and a Pegasus  
  
And at the figures looked down grimly,  
  
Till one of the gate guardians spoke.  
  
"Follow the flame, and do not stray from your path,  
  
Our Lord has been expecting you all.  
  
Your claims will be heard."  
  
And thus, four of the dreamers  
  
Stepped forth and entered the castle fearlessly  
  
And the fifth sneaked behind them to follow the flame  
  
And went unnoticed by any.  
  
  
  
Flames crawled on the sleek marble floor  
  
Leading the figures - four men and a girl -  
  
Into the very depth of the castle  
  
Where a throne stood; eternal and proud  
  
And on the throne there appeared a sixth figure  
  
A tall man of skin as white as ivory  
  
And eyes that reflect the most distant of stars  
  
Looking down at the figures, he bid them all welcome  
  
As the girl crawled into the darkness of the room  
  
And waited for something great to come to pass.  
  
Anything great.  
  
  
  
The four men moved forward to kneel  
  
Before he who is lord of the castle and realm  
  
Yet he asked them to rise, and bid them to speak  
  
"You have not come to bow to me. No one has yet.  
  
Speak your hearts and I shall listen.  
  
You all have been expected here tonight."  
  
Thus they rose; and if frightened, it did not show on their faces.  
  
But they stayed still and hesitant.  
  
Till one walked forward and spoke to the Dream King.  
  
  
  
"Lord! I have come, since this year has arrived  
  
And certain thoughts trouble me on this day.  
  
You would remember - you gave me a gift  
  
Many ages ago, when I still walked the mortal plain  
  
And promised me, one Jules Verne, the secret of tomorrow.  
  
So now I ask, Dream Lord, why does the conundrum  
  
Stand yet unsolved? For yes, my tales  
  
Of machines of tomorrow have all come true  
  
And men today speak of them as reality  
  
But Lord, the tomorrow that I had in mind  
  
Was marvelous beyond thought and great beyond dreams  
  
Was fair to behold - and most inspiring  
  
Yet, today all my dreams are but uninspired reality,  
  
Familiar to all and magnificent to none.  
  
Where is my tomorrow, Lord, today?"  
  
  
  
The Dream Lord nodded, but made no reply  
  
And his eyes merely sparkled as twin stars  
  
As the next man came forth and spoke his heart.  
  
  
  
"King of Dreams! You would do well to remember  
  
The year of 1949, when I  
  
Came to this realm requesting a boon  
  
That you would let me give warning to my fellow men.  
  
That one George Orwell might tell of tomorrow  
  
So that mankind would know what it must not let happen  
  
How dark may their beautiful tomorrow be  
  
It was a gift granted, oh Lord - inspiration  
  
And the power of writing were at my command  
  
Yet stories are stories, and reality  
  
Does not seem to have changed - men still lie, men still hate  
  
So that, Lord, my warning failed, and tomorrow  
  
Is as bleak as I sought it not to be.  
  
Thus, tell me, oh you who are king of illusions  
  
Is this the only tomorrow there is?"  
  
  
  
The Dream King made no movement, said no word  
  
Not to approve and not to disapprove  
  
Only his star-eyes locked on the next man  
  
Till he stepped forward and spoke out his claims.  
  
  
  
"Lord of Dreams! It is me, yet another dreamer  
  
Whom you gave a gift thirty-odd years before  
  
To try and spread a word through the craft of the arts  
  
However, my words might have seemed quite different  
  
Back when I asked for them to be heard!  
  
Yet today, This one Gene Roddenberry is remembered  
  
As one who has brought millions hope of tomorrow  
  
With something as small as a television show  
  
For them - for all mankind - I created utopia  
  
But not merely, Lord, to entertain!  
  
How far-fetched may this fantasy had seemed  
  
Many hoped it to someday come true.  
  
Yet today is 2000, Dream Lord, and yet  
  
My bright tomorrow has yet to arrive  
  
And I, who gave hope, am swiftly losing it.  
  
I sought a bright tomorrow, and millions with me.  
  
Will it ever be found, Lord?"  
  
  
  
A smile seemed to flash on the Dream King's pale lips  
  
Yet he made no reply; merely indicated  
  
The next man, who, after hearing his companions' claims  
  
Seemed somewhat shy, but spoke nonetheless.  
  
  
  
"Sir! It would seem that my claim might seem lesser  
  
After all you have heard from these people tonight.  
  
I was no visionary, and gave no warning  
  
Nor hope. All I have done, Lord, was write.  
  
You, who gave me, one Isaac Asimov,  
  
A gift many years ago would know  
  
How I wrote of tomorrow and dreamed of tomorrow  
  
And hoped for tomorrow all of my life.  
  
And with me, Lord, six billion now dream  
  
Each in a fashion different from the rest  
  
Of a better future that might someday shed it light  
  
On their dull, brief lives; they all dream of tomorrow.  
  
And I, who have sworn myself to tomorrow  
  
Am starting to fear, Lord... that there is but today."  
  
  
  
He finished his words, then, and the Dream King  
  
Rose from his throne and looked down at the men  
  
And for a moment seemed pondering, considering his reply  
  
Until he spoke to them in a tone  
  
Neither comforting nor disappointing.  
  
  
  
"I have heard your claims, and remember your gifts,  
  
And truly wish I could change what is  
  
But in truth, sirs, I can't - this realm of dream  
  
Is not one to interact with the realm of reality  
  
And thus often the dreamers are disappointed  
  
Because their dreams have had no effect.  
  
I would gladly give you dreams of tomorrow, good sirs  
  
But what is - is, and that is all there is."  
  
  
  
The four's faces fell; none of them said a word  
  
And by truth, they seemed ready to both cry and leave  
  
And then the Dream King's gaze shifted  
  
To a darkened corner in the room  
  
Where the girl was listening in absolute silence  
  
And summoned a light to glisten on her features  
  
And spoke to her in a voice both booming and soft.  
  
"You came here as well, with those four,  
  
Yet I do not remember you, child, as a barer of my gift.  
  
Speak your heart." And the girl rose up, and did.  
  
  
  
"Dream King! I came here to ask to be blessed  
  
With the same gift you bestowed on many men  
  
Of creativity, the gift of the Word, in hopes  
  
That this new young one be great as these four!  
  
And yet now, Lord, I take back my request  
  
I do not wish for a pair of dream-wings  
  
For I live the tomorrow these writers have spoke of  
  
And tomorrow never comes to my world  
  
And it would not, Lord, for all that they wish it,  
  
And I believe that the answer in known  
  
This matter is one of an excess of dream!  
  
Wings granted so powerful their barer was carried  
  
Far away to the sky, until he left the Earth  
  
Behind, and drifted along with the dreams  
  
So that the Earth was not his to change,  
  
Not his to effect - and one cannot bring tomorrow to my world  
  
When one lives it in a world of dreams.  
  
Thus I renounce my request, oh Lord  
  
So that I may remain on the ground, and have power  
  
Over the world - and the power is there  
  
Tomorrow is ours for the making!"  
  
  
  
And before the four writers' amazement-filled eyes  
  
The Dream Lord smiled at the brave young girl  
  
And *did not bless her*, and instead sent her back  
  
To a world of fear and blight and despair,  
  
To a world of pain that must be healed,  
  
To a world of wrongs that must be put right,  
  
To a world of people that must be led to believe  
  
That the future is there waiting to be brought,  
  
With two feet on the ground and the mind in the skies  
  
To dream - and make dream and reality one  
  
And aye, God willing, to bring on tomorrow!  
  
  
  
"If you can dream - and not make dreams your master  
  
If you can think - and not make thought your aim..."  
  
Rudyard Kiplin -- "If - "  
  
  
  
End  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
No, I don't really think I can do better than these four writers, but it WAS my idea... ( 


End file.
